Date: Tue, 1 Aug 2006 22:36:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Cume Munkey
Subject: Spilling (Bisexual, encounters, 1st, M/M)
One situation, led to another situation and I had not
had an orgasm in three weeks.
Not to imply I am a stud or that I get all the sex
that I want, not true, but I know what pleases me and
my fingers can work magic. I had been holding off on
the self-indulgence because I had a long distance
girlfriend. I held off because she loved to give oral
and wanted to swallow my cum. So I had not harvested
the juice in a while. My gift to her was also a gift
to me. Believe me, at age 25, going three days with
out masturbating is tough, so you can guess how amped
up I was to have a release for three quarters of a
month.
My girlfriend is 20 years older than I and -- if
possible -- had a libido that was racing faster than
mine. She was at the end of a divorce and I think I am
her solution to a midlife crisis. And she was the
answer to my prayers, except that she lived in New
York City and I lived in Erie, Pa. I met her in my
last year of working on my Engineering Degree. I
already had lined up a job through a couple summer
internships in my home town, so for the time being I
was a long train ride away from Jennifer.
If I wasn't horny enough (I was ready to duck into the
closest toilet stall for some relief) F-ing Amtrak was
running five hours behind when I arrived! I was in the
station at 5 a.m., only to wait until 10:45 a.m. to
depart. I was getting into NYC at 8:30 p.m. I was
pissed and was really close to cracking.
At 6:30 a.m. when I was taking a leak in the toilet
and a fat hairy guy that looked about 60 parked
himself at the urinal next to me. He was a little too
obvious with his wandering glance. I've often thought
about picking up on gays that were more than willing
to provide oral satisfaction. I have those
boy-next-door looks. Mind you, I'm NOT good looking,
but so average you would swear you met me before.
People were always coming up to me in bars thinking I
was someone they knew from High School.
So the guy was checking me out. Well, better luck
next time buddy. He almost made me laugh out loud.
First off he didn't even have to go (okay, I admit it,
I looked). Second of all he made conversation while he
was at it: "you going on the train?"
I almost let my sarcasm slip out. ('No I hang out in
train stations waiting to have sex with grandpas.')
Instead: "Yea, I'm on my way to New York City."
Actually, the guy had a couple things to his
advantage. First would be the aforementioned
self-imposed celibacy; the second would be my blood
alcohol level content.
I like to use the train to sleep and I help the
sandman by self-medicating myself with rum and cokes.
I had been filling up most of the night, thinking I
would be heading to slumberland at 6 a.m. (I figured
if I could sleep most of the train trip and spend the
next night screwing Jennifer's brains out.) That was
the end of our conversation, I zipped up and left --
without even washing my hands.
I went back and continued to read the novel I was
working on. Then the announcement came that the train
was even more behind. Now it was expected to arrive at
noon. That eventually changed to 2 p.m. It turns out
that the train had hit a car on the tracks and it was
way off schedule.
I laid down on a bench and tried to glide into a sleep
pattern, but there was 6-7 women in the middle of a
bridge tournament or some card game. They were laugh
and taunting each other. Just about when I was ready
to doze off, someone played a hand wrong and there was
a couple minutes of cat calls. After a couple hours, I
just started to hit on the Pepsi bottle that was laced
with Bacardi again. The ancillary benefit was it was
dulling my sexual desire. Otherwise the women in their
late fifties might have been at the wrong end of my
charm.
When the train pulled into the station, I was ready
for sleep.
The train was crowded and hot. I was glad I had wore
shorts and a t-shirt. The conductor announced that the
air condition would soon be working. I pulled out the
jacket I brought in my backpack. I didn't think I
would really needed it, but it wouldn't hurt to have
it handy.
For a moment I thought I had hit the jackpot, a seat
all to myself. I had spread out, kicked off my shoes
and I was in that grey area between conscious and
unconscious. The train was moving and I was just about
to count off some Z's when the train woman handed me a
pillow and told me I had to move over.
Of course, guess who was dropping down next to me?
peeping grandpa.
I couldn't very well tell the woman: "No this is the
guy who was checking out my cock." And since I was
tired and drunk, I didn't think it would make sense to
stagger to the cafe car. I had one option left,
pretend like I didn't remember the guy, turn to my
left -- with my back to him and go to sleep.
A train seat isn't the best bed in the world, but in
my condition I could have slept on the back of a
thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby, plus the rocking
motion of the train is quite comforting.
My dreams shifted to sex. In my slumber I was
receiving fellatio from Jennifer and I was edging
close to an orgasm (a wet dream was not out of the
question). She was using her fingernails and dragging
them my cock, then the train shifted and I woke up.
The train's A/C had started to work, so I pulled the
jacket over my chest. I had turned and was sleeping on
my back.
There was no hiding it, I had an erection. I could
have covered it with the jacket but that would have
taken too much effort, not to mention I could only
really cover half of my torso with the jacket. What
the hell, let the guy fantasize about my hard on.
I kept my eyes closed and the train started to move
again, we must have been in a station.
Lucky me, the dream resumed, but when I looked down in
my dream, the old guy was bobbing his head on me. The
thought jolted me awake and I noticed the guy next to
me move suddenly. Though slited eyes I could see he
had a pen in his hand. I fought the urge to turn away
and just feigned sleep. After a minute or so, sure
enough, grandpa started tracing an out line of my cock
against the fabric of my shorts. The fucker was
slowly and gently jacking me off.
And I was so horny, lost in the remnants of a dream,
that I didn't care.
In fact, probably leading the guy on, I shifted my
hips and groaned. It was all the encouragement the guy
needed. Either on purpose or by design the pen slipped
out of his hand and as he grappled to pick it up, he
actually grabbed my cock.
I'm not a big guy, but there is no mistaking my penis
from a pen. Of course if we are discussing the nuances
of decorum, there was no mistake when I pushed the
jacket down to cover up his fondling.
He stroked me through the cotton cloth a couple times,
then slipped his hand through the leg of the my
shorts. I exploded when his hand touched me.
He continued to caress me, eventually massaging all my
sperm into my belly and thigh.
Eventually he removed his hand, got up and moved away
-- to the restroom to relieve himself I was thinking.
But that wasn't all I was thinking.